


The Sea is Changeless

by ghoulbones



Category: Star Trek
Genre: F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Romance, actually you know what im gonna finish this for me, but its illogical to believe that logic is always logical, i just think theyre neat, if theres enough response ill continue it, logic is not always logical, no i will not fix it, this is borne of me liking vulcans as a race, which may seem like an illogical statement, wow that hurt my brain to type, yes the tenses are screwed up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23801083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulbones/pseuds/ghoulbones
Summary: Theirs is an unlikely match, yes. But it is theirs, and that is enough.
Relationships: OC/OC, OFC/OFC, original female human character/original female vulcan character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	1. Angel

**Author's Note:**

> ok listen. i like women and i like vulcans. this was the next (logical) step. i will ignore some canon details because i can and the ghost of gene roddenberry certainly wont care, my main man gene was a solid dude and as progressive as a man from the 70s could be. so i write this gay oc fanfiction in your spirit, gene.

She's forty minutes into her set when an Angel walks in. 

The lights of the stage are blinding. She can barely make out individual people, but one spot at the back of the bar is perfectly visible. Vaguely, she makes out that Leon is hissing at her from off-stage. Something along the lines of _"What the hell are you doing, play your damn guitar and finish the song asshole you're going to ruin-"_

Leon is an idiot.

She absentmindedly plays her guitar; an old-school rock and roll song about not wanting to be alone, she thinks, but her fingers probably pick out nonsense as she stares at The Angel. The Angel looks uncomfortable, sitting on a wooden bar stool with two people in Starfleet uniforms trying to get what looks like the local IPA into her hands. She's wearing a uniform as well, but with gloves. Her jet black hair is neatly bobbed and swept back, displaying pointed, curved ears. Her skin is a light brown tinged green, but she's too far away to see more.

Mona wants to see more. _No,_ she revises.

She will _die_ if she doesn't see more.

The song ends. Mona's glad she wasn't singing, and silently thanks Diane for taking one for the team to let Mona rest her voice. She wonders if The Angel has a beautiful voice. 

Mona pokes Diane before she starts the next song, without moving her eyes from The Angel. "I've got to get off stage, Deedee. I have to go right now."

Diane huffs. "Fine. Get Th'rek to play your part. He'll piss himself."

It's hard to pull her eyes away from The Angel, but she'll trip over an amp if she doesn't look where she's walking. _Don't leave don't leave don't leave_ Mona begs whoever's listening. 

Th'rek nearly does piss himself in excitement. Mona waves off his thanks and nearly runs into the bar proper from backstage, brushing off Leon's enraged voice. It's background noise.

The Angel is still there. Her friends are still beside her, but one's chatting with the bartender and the other's still trying to get her to try something from the bar- both are men. She doesn't seem to be interested in her friend's offer.

Mona tries to approach, but some kid from the audience pokes at her and asks for an autograph, which leads to the guys next to him to drunkenly ask for one too, and now she's got ten people wanting an autograph from a woman with no patience.

"I'm sorry, guys, I gotta go see about a girl," she tries to deflect, but they all shove their PADDS in her direction, one guy with a grimy stylus she doesn't even want to look at, let alone touch. 

"Hey, can I get one too?"

It's Bar Guy One, the pushy one. He's buff, and tall, and his bulk is _blocking her view of The Angel, gddammit!_

She looks around him, but-

- _she's gone!_

"Fuck! Where'd she go?" Mona pushes her way around Big Buff Bar Guy One to scan the area. 

"Hey, do I get an autograph or what?" he asks, sounding slightly put out. 

"Where's your friend, _please_ tell me she didn't leave-"

Big Buff Bar Guy One steps back, and out of the corner of her eye she sees his confused expression, wrinkled brow shoving dark eyebrows together. "The Vulcan? Do you know her?"

"No I don't, but I gotta go meet her!"

He rears his head back in surprise at Mona's tone. "She's taking a breather outside, but careful, she-"

She shoves past him, through the throng of bar goers, groaning about the autographs _she has no time to give, come on, where is she-_

Mona hits the door at full force. She judged it wrong, though, and as her bulk rams into it, the door opens too readily. Her momentum carries her too far forward. 

She hits the concrete. She hears a _crunch._

 _Ouch_ , is what she thinks. What she says is _"Fuck!"_

Her nose is on fire. This is the end.

"Do you require medical assistance?" a beautiful voice asks.

Mona rolls over as fast as she can, but her nose really, really doesn't like that. It's started bleeding like a stuck pig, but that doesn't matter. She sees The Angel through pain-watery eyes. She's walked over from her position at the wall and has crouched down to ask.

She's _exquisite._ Her face is heart-shaped, with the barest hint of high cheekbones. Her eyes are big and brown like warm coffee and she is devastatingly gorgeous.

 _Never again,_ Mona thinks dreamily. _I'm never gonna need medicine again 'cus I'll get better looking at you._

 _"Hrrgh,"_ comes out instead.

"Tilt your head forward forty five degrees. It will drain the blood from your sinuses. Do not tilt your head backwards, or you will choke on your blood," Angel instructs. "I will call for medical assistance."

Mona tilts her head forward, but keeps her eyes up to see her better. She'd jump off a bridge if Angel asked. She does introduce herself, though, with an, "I'm Mona." Which sounds more like _"I'b Bona."_

Angel blinks. "I do not understand the language you are attempting to communicate with."

Mona laughs, but winces as her nose makes itself known again. "English," Mona tells her, then spits out a glob of blood. She points a thumb at herself. "Mona," she manages to say correctly. "Clinic's one block away."

Big Buff Bar Guy Two, the one chatting up the bartender, steps outside- big neon letters over the door spell out _"Hook and Tackle",_ a cheesy name- and he doesn't look like he likes what he sees. "This chick givin' you trouble?"

The Angel replies, "I do not know what you mean by 'chick', but this woman did not accost me. She... fell. I believe she has broken her nose."

 _You're so smart_ turns into _"Ughhhbweagh."_

"I can take you to the clinic, bro, do you need some help?" Big Buff Bar Guy Two asks.

Angel interrupts. "I will accompany you to the medical facility if you require assistance."

Which totally doesn't sound like an excuse to leave.

_Who cares please take me wherever you go, I'll do anything._

"Yes please miss."

* * *

The human is taking too long.

"You are intentionally prolonging our arrival to the medical facility. This is illogical."

"What's your name?" 'Mona' asks. She has improved her ability to speak.

"T'Prinn. Why are you walking at a reduced pace?"

"That's a beautiful name. I saw you from the stage, and I... just had to meet you. It's a beautiful name."

T'Prinn raises an eyebrow. "It is a name. Beauty was not a consideration when it was chosen. You have deflected my question twice, and I await your answer."

Mona smiles, but the intended charm becomes almost ghoulish with the blood drying on her chin and lips. "I wanna talk to you more."

"You are being unreasonable. Attending to your health is more pressing than attempting to converse with me further." T'Prinn tries to quicken their pace, but Mona resists the pull on her hooded garment's sleeve.

"I saw you from the stage. It's bright and I can't see much away from the stage, but I saw you walk in. You looked like an angel."

"As portrayals of Christian angels do not match my physical description, that statement is untrue." T'Prinn pulls harder and forces Mona's tall frame to walk more quickly. "You are in need of assistance and your resistance is illogical." 

Mona stumbles forward, but talks faster. "You're as beautiful as one, though. Before I knew your name I called you The Angel in my head."

T'Prinn looks at Mona from the corner of her eye. Well, she looks _up_ at Mona. The woman is just above six feet tall contrasting T'Prinn's own short stature, with her head only just reaching the taller woman's shoulders. "There is a human saying I believe applies here. "Beauty is in eye of the beholder"."

Mona smiles widely. "Then if that's true, in my eyes you're what I think an Angel is. That's the next logical step, ain't it?"

T'Prinn does not have a counterpoint. "I concede your point."

"What're you learning at the Aca-"

"We have arrived."

"But I haven't even asked if-"

"Live long and prosper, Miss Mona." T'Prinn gives her the ta'al. She does not wait for the response, turning around to walk back to cadets Vaughn and Atkinson. 

"Can you play an instrument?"

She pauses. Turns back around. "I am proficient in the art of playing the ka'athyra, a Vulcan instrument much like your Terran lute."

Mona has pulled out an elegant ink pen (a rarity in these modern times) and a small napkin from her trouser pockets. "My friends and their friends and I have a get-together every Saturday to hang out and ja- to play our instruments. It's all kinds- my Trill friend's amazing at her species' version of a piano- and it's a good time, I promise. Here," Mona struggles to write on the small napkin, raising a knee under it as to not tear it. She gets smudges of her blood on the edges. "It's here, we use my buddy Rex's house 'cus we all have tiny apartments and it's got enormous rooms. Great acoustics in there."

T'Prinn takes the napkin between her thumb and index finger. It's barely legible, but she is able to make it out. Barely. 

She surprises herself when she says, "I will consider it."

Odd.

Mona lets out a relieved sigh. "Thank Christ. I thought you'd walk away and I'd never see you again."

"I could in fact be doing that. I have not decided."

"At least now I've got hope, Angel." Mona rubs the back of her neck. "I really do hope you'll come. I've got a good feeling about it."

 _A good feeling._ What a human statement. "I have told you my name is T'Prinn."

"And I've told you it's a beautiful. If you come by Saturday you can tell it to me again." 

T'Prinn considers this woman. She is pale and the color of her hair could either be brown or black, but due to it being cropped close to the scalp there was no telling. She is very masculine. Muscle definition is apparent. Her accent is very distinct, most likely originating from the south of North America. 

"I will strongly consider it."

Mona beams. This woman smiles freely and unreservedly. It is... 

...interesting.

* * *

It takes five minutes and seventeen point three seconds to come to her conclusion. She returns to the bar where Cadets Vaughn and Atkinson await her outside. "Cadet Vaughn, I ask you to attend to my dorm mates feline companion Buster this coming Saturday. Cadet Gek often forgets to feed her. I will not be available to do this."

"It's Damien, T'Prinn, for the billionth time. But... Okay? Sure thing. Why?" 

"You are being hyperbolic. You have not told me one billion times. Only seven. I will be attending this woman's 'get-together' as she calls it to experience her acquaintance's musical abilities. She has asked me to bring my ka'athyra." T'Prinn pauses. "She has also asked I tell her my name again."

Cadet Atkinson- Carlos- asks confusedly, "Didn't she hear the first time?"

T'Prinn nods once. "She said ' _it's beautiful. If you come by Saturday you can tell it to me again'_. She also likened me to an angel."

"I told her I would consider it. In five minutes and seventeen point three seconds I came to the conclusion I would attend Miss Mona's event." She carefully folds the napkin and tucks it into her uniform. "It is becoming late in the evening. I must rest for the upcoming day's classes"

Damien's mouth gapes open. She assumes it is in confusion. His head shakes slightly side to side. He seems to be shaking himself from a stupor. "Mona. Mona Miles? Mona Miles asked you out."

"Wh-" Carlos gasps. " _What?_ That was Mona Miles? I thought she was just lead guitar! Why wasn't she singing?"

T'Prinn steps in. "I assume Miss Miles is a celebrity."

Damien nods his head frantically. "She's the biggest up-and-coming independent artist in all of San Francisco, she only plays small venues. I own all her albums."

Carlos plants a hand on the side of his face. "Holy shit. T'Prinn got asked out by Mona Miles." He huffs out a laugh. "We have to get you date ready, what civilian clothes do you own? Are any fancy? Do Vulcans wear any makeup- scratch that, of course you don't. Have you ever been on a date?"

Damien kicks his leg. "Knock it off, dude!"

"What do you mean by date? I am 'on a date' every day. The Terran date is Wednesday. It is Stardate-"

"-T'Prinn, a date is an arrangement made to find out if two people are compatible. From the sound of it Mona's trying to find out if you're into her," Damien explains.

T'Prinn nods once. "I see. She is attempting to see if we are compatible as acquaintances." Something strange flashed across her mind at that, but she would analyze it during meditation later.

"Erm..." Damien hesitates. He looks at Carlos for a moment and they share an expression she cannot identify. "Yeaaaaah."

Saturday is only fifty two hours away. T'Prinn has the illogical thought it is an eternity.


	2. Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A step back.

Emotions are not illogical, in the grand scheme of things, as they are natural- the extreme danger lies in leaving them untempered. T'Prinn is taught this, as a member of the Vulcan race. She is taught how emotionalism must be suppressed and subsequently removed. The allowance of emotion to control oneself leads to destruction of the mind. Their race naturally feels deeply and destructively. As feral animals do.

Such is the reason Vulcans do not allow these emotions to control them. To separate from irrationality and thus emotion distinguishes a Vulcan from an animal. An animal runs from pain, whereas a Vulcan confronts it, allows it to pass through them. Nature is not the master of the mind.

"Your body must be mastered by your mind. Only biology remains unchanged. Biology cannot be escaped, as it is definite. As it is definite, it is logical," a teacher tells a young T'Prinn.

T'Prinn finds this illogical. If one's mind can control one's body, why allow the body to define what your mind must do?

She asks her ko-mekh this. Her ko-mekh responds by telling T'Prinn of their species' greatest shame. Of her duty to their species to keep it a secret and to assume her role in it when she reaches her majority. She tells T'Prinn this in an emotionless way. It is fact. T'Prinn is old enough to be told.

She never brings it up to her ko-mekh again. She finds it...

It is natural, she attempts to reason with herself. This is a biological function which cannot be escaped, like eating or drinking is. It is her... duty to see her future bond mate through it. Logic dictates all of this.

Disgusting. She finds it disgusting.

She is ten years old.

* * *

She knows Sunek, her bond mate to-be, very well. They have known each other from a very young age. When she looks at him, identifies him vaguely in her mind, she has no emotion to suppress. He is present, but not engaging in any way. They are not friends.

T'Prinn meets T'Pen at the educational facility. T'Prinn is thirteen. T'Pen is engaging, with a sharp mind, quick wit and impeccable logic. Intelligent beyond her years. T'Pen is fifteen. T'Prinn considers her a friend. T'Prinn considers her as more than a friend. She feels...

She Feels. T'Prinn considers T'Pen, and must suppress confusing emotions. Unknown, unwelcome emotions- it is difficult to control, and reflects in her behavior; a slightly furrowed brow, a near-imperceptible pursing of lips. It is an outburst for a Vulcan.

T'Prinn is a curious person. She almost goes to T'Pen one day, during the recess for the mid-day meal. She does not know why; she has no real reason to speak with T'Pen. She only wishes to ask the older girl if she has similar issues, but it is not acceptable. 

She thinks T'Pen is pretty.

 _I find you aesthetically attractive_ , T'Prinn tells her. _This is thought I often meditate on._ She is fourteen. It is an impulsive statement. 

T'Pen does not speak to her after that.

T'Prinn does not understand. She attempts to, but cannot come to a reasonable conclusion as to why T'Pen has ceased contact. She asks her ko-mehk and sa-mehk, T'Pon and Sorik, about this. They tell her to suppress these illogical emotions. They are not natural. 

T'Prinn thinks she is unnatural. She does not find herself adequate. It is confusing. Ko-mehk and sa-mehk do nothing to help her understand these things.

As she grows older, more educated, more in control of her emotions, one emotion remains. Whenever she thinks about it, of a male using her- purely for her body, not her mind- it is extraordinarily difficult to suppress her illogical emotions. The wispy connection to her future bond mate formed from necessity at childhood begins to weigh heavier and heavier on her psyche. It lingers in her thoughts, hounds her meditation.

She thinks she would rather have T'Pen as a bond mate.

* * *

T'Prinn accompanies her mother and father on a business excursion to Terra, a way to gain experience through immersion in an alien culture. It is her first time traveling through space. She is sixteen.

Terra is a bright place, unlike the reds and tans of Vulcan; it seems as if subtlety does not exist in any capacity on the planet, from the native race to the environment they live in. It is loud and invasive. Touch is exchanged indiscriminately among the humans. The temperature is either chilling cold or heat to rival Vulcan's own.

It is fascinating. San Francisco is their ultimate destination, as the Vulcan consulate stationed there was in need of their input in-person, but small matters take them across the planet. Johannesburg is the most fascinating, flora-and-fauna wise, but San Francisco is captivating in its own way. Before Terra had done away with poverty and world hunger, according to T'Prinn's research, San Francisco was a hub of crime, disease, addiction and pollution. None of this was evident now. The people are healthy; the air is clean.

It is also cold and damp. The ocean reaches far into the distance, the bay containing a long-unused, primitive prison preserved as a historical landmark. 

It is an interesting city, compared to the others she has been to. It is unrepentant in its emotionalism, vibrant with it. Flags wave from nearly every building, reflecting the colors of a prism. She does not understand the significance, but the logical conclusion is that it represents a particular allegiance to some cause or ideal.

She asks a human within the consulate- Doctor Norma Gordon, she introduces herself- between meetings what they represent. They are both waiting outside the meeting room on a solitary bench.

"Oh, the Pride flags? Those represent gay pride," Dr. Gordon replies. She is an aged woman, with lines around her eyes and mouth T'Prinn has never seen the like of. 

"Pride in the fact that you are happy? Expound."

Dr. Gordon hums amusedly. "Gay meaning homosexual. Nowadays it's also used to show support and pride between inter-species couples. My neighbors across the hall are a very nice Andorian-Human couple. Andorians culturally pair in quads, but they're very happy together. They have a few flags hanging from their window facing the street."

T'Prinn takes a moment to gather her thoughts. "Define homosexual."

Dr. Gordon's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, taken aback. "Oh! Well, homosexuality is the attraction to the same gender as yourself."

T'Prinn considers this. She is almost reluctant to say anything. "To Vulcans, bonding is only between males and females. It is... illogical to bond with someone who could not continue the advancement and growth of the species."

Dr. Gordon squints at T'Prinn slightly. A wrinkle appears between her brows. T'Prinn has an illogical need to expound. "Biology cannot be escaped, as it is definite. As it is definite, it is logical."

The wrinkle deepens, and Dr. Gordon strangely moves her mouth to one side of her face, seemingly in contemplation. "There's a fact that invalidates that."

T'Prinn has been taught by Vulcans of extreme wisdom her whole life this fact is definite; Dr. Gordon offers an outside opinion, however, and she is too interested to allow this information to go unheard. "What is this fact?"

Dr. Gordon searches for something in T'Prinn's face. She seems to find it, and smiles. "Love isn't logical, but it is definite. If you love someone, you love them. That simple."

T'Prinn is suddenly, irrationally uncomfortable. This was not what she expected. A sudden (unwelcome) thought about T'Pen brushes across her mind. She does not wish to continue the conversation. It raises memories and emotions she struggles to suppress. 

A heavy hand lays on T'Prinn's shoulder over her thick robes. She stiffens. Dr. Gordon pats the shoulder in a human, maternal way before rising to her feet, bones in her knees cracking loudly. She smiles widely, and grabs her simple wooden cane. "It was a pleasure to meet you, truly, kid."

Dr. Gordon leans down slightly. She gives T'Prinn a deeply compassionate look, and says, "My wife and I were together for forty years, Miss T'Prinn. I may not have been able to have children with my Rhonda, but I've been so fulfilled I never needed or wanted them. I miss her every day. She was enough and more for me than I could've ever dreamed. I hope whoever you're with in the future can do the same. You're a good kid, and I'd hate to see you living an unfulfilled life.

"My parents told me this when I was a kid, a quote. "Love is love is love, and cannot be killed or swept aside.” It's yours now, too. Take care of it." Dr. Gordon gave her a practiced ta'al. "Live long and prosper."

T'Prinn openly stared, but had the fortitude to reply, "peace and long life."

_Cannot be killed._

Her return to Vulcan brings with it new memories and experiences she will always remember.

_Cannot be swept aside._

It must be. She must sweep it aside.

_Take care of it._

She will sweep it aside... later.

She is only sixteen, after all.

* * *

Sunek attempts to manipulate her into intercourse.

He approaches her with it in mind. "It is logical we understand each other intimately, as we are to be bonded," he tells her. "As she who is to be bonded to me, a duty you must fulfill will be thus."

She briefly considers it. The thought is unappealing. 

"No," she says.

He pushes. "It is natural t-"

T'Prinn does the unbelievable. The unacceptable.

She laughs. One exhale, a hitch in her chest. 

She freezes. He does not change his expression or body language, but the small link between them is tinged with shock. 

He doesn't attempt it a second time.

She is eighteen.

* * *

One night, instead of resting, T'Prinn comes to an unfortunate conclusion. She is nineteen.

T'Pon and Sorik are traditionalists. They were arranged to be bonded from a young age and have expected her to do so as well. They do not tolerate deviation from Surak's teachings. They have purged themselves of emotion, devoting themselves to pure logic. They are also highly respected in Vulcan high society, which consists of similar Vulcans.

T'Prinn tells her mother and father, _I do not wish to bond with Sunek at his Time._ She tells them, _I wish to dissolve the bond between Sunek and myself._

They speak to her of disgrace. Of duty. _Want is illogical_ , Sorik says. _It is the duty of the female to attend her bond mate,_ T'Pon says. 

_It is unnatural,_ they say to her.

She seeks out Sunek, and they agree to dissolve their bond. He does not find it a suitable match and acquiesces quickly. A docile bond mate is what he seeks.

With the bond between Sunek and T'Prinn severed, so too do Sorik and T'Pon sever their connection to her. Her mind is empty of outside influence. What should be a welcome change is an infinite, hollow silence. She is Alone.

She joins Starfleet.

She is one of many races to enlist. She is the only Vulcan in her class. She cannot decide if this is a positive or negative.

* * *

Cadets Damien Vaughn and Carlos Atkinson are the closest she has to friends. They are extremely intelligent, if slightly too emotional. They are human. She is twenty one.

"C'mon, T'Prinn, you gotta get out now and then. You're gonna waste away doing nothing but studying for years."

Cadet Vaughn is extremely hyperbolic, but she is learning it is more likely a trait of the human race as a whole. "I will not 'waste away', Cadet Vaughn. I consume the necessary amount of calories to maintain a healthy body and perform adequate exercise often. You exaggerate."

Vaughn blows out an irritated breath. "Damien. Please just call me Damien. Sometimes I think you do it on purpose."

She does not confirm nor deny this.

Atkinson flops down on his bed. He and Vaughn are dorm mates. She is often invited to study sessions (they are tutoring sessions, but Atkinson and Vaughn are too proud to admit it) and this particular one has devolved into general conversation. "You know," Atkinson (Carlos, he insists) says, "I haven't been to a concert in a while. There's a place not too far with live music and decent drinks."

"Yeah, It's the Hook and something right? Bait and Tackle? Something ridiculous." Vaughn says, dramatically falling on top of Atkinson, most likely to irritate him. They do these things often. T'Prinn is continually surprised at human behavior.

"Get off, asshole, you're crushing me! And yeah, it is. You should come with us, T'Prinn! It'll be a new experience, you like those. Immersion into the local culture and all that."

It takes a great deal of effort to tamp down a vaguely exhausted tone. "If it will alleviate your worry I am going to 'waste away', I shall join you."

Vaughn laughs and punches Atkinson in the shoulder. "In other words she wants us to stop nagging."

She does not confirm or deny this either.


	3. Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another step back.

Mona's life is painted in vibrant color. Reds and blues and greens, yellows and purples all boldly streaking their way across her heart and her head. Momma and Daddy love to paint with the rainbow. "We take it in handfuls," Momma whispers. A secret. "We ask the rainbow to please stay on the paper, just for us."

The ranch is theirs, Mona knows. It's their very own colors the rainbow gave them. Green grass, brown cows, gold wheat, red apples and yellow sun. A blue pond with silver fish.

Mona McClain is five years old, and she's the luckiest girl in the universe. Her favorite color is all of them.

* * *

Mona's in the second grade and Ms. Stacy is the best teacher ever. She's so pretty, and tall, and gentle and nice and perfect. She never wears the same outfit twice except for her baby blue headband. Mona's favorite color is baby blue.

Ms. Stacy's boyfriend is stupid. He's a big dummy and he shouldn't bring Ms. Stacy lunch because she always spends lunch with the class but when he comes around she _doesn't._ When Mona packs Ms. Stacy a lunch all by herself one day, (a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with an orange juice box and only the blue M&M's) and she giggles like Mona's being silly then asks if she wants to share, Mona knows she's gotta marry her. She just has to grow up a little bit and then they can be whatever it means to be grownup-married because Ms. Stacy's boyfriend Jackson (ew!) is stupid, and like in her bedtime stories Mona's a knight who needs to save Princess Ms. Stacy from the evil wizard Jackson.

The fourth graders are learning how to play the recorder and they sound so good, so Mona snatches one from the band room closet. When she gets home she runs down to the pond to practice and practice and practice on the fish because she has to play it perfect for Ms. Stacy, to show she's all grown up and can get married now. Mona decides she'll wait until the last day of school to show Ms. Stacy how good she got at it (and to get in as much practice as possible, of course). She does all her homework as fast as she can to make time for more recorder practice. 

Spring break is exciting, because it means Momma and Daddy get to harvest. Replicator food is icky and tastes weird; fresh cauliflower was _sooooo_ tasty. Mona doesn't like the actual harvesting part very much because she gets really tired and it's like it never ends, but it does end and the food's _amazing._ She practices her recorder and feeds the fish little green peas. They're a good audience and they need a treat.

"You're my first audience," she whisper-talks to the little guys. "One day I'm gonna get a whole bunch of people to listen."

When Spring break ends, and Mona runs in to tell Ms. Stacy everything she's done since it started, Ms. Stacy tells the class she's Mrs. Stacy now. Mona's little heart is shattered into a billion trillion million pieces. 

She throws her recorder into the fish pond and cries. 

She hates baby blue. She doesn't have a favorite color any more.

* * *

It's eighth grade. Mona's favorite color is black.

Mom and Dad don't get it, but support Mona when she begins listening to punk music and teaches herself how to play the guitar. She gets really good. She doesn't feel good.

She shaves her head to a buzz cut, and she and her friend Jacques secretly give each other little stick-and-poke skull tattoos.

She hates herself, for no real reason. For being what Old Mr. Doug the next ranch over calls a dyke. Mona uses any reason to shit all over herself because she's not enough. She never will be. Talentless, a hack, a loser.

Mom and Dad get her help when she tries to swallow Dad's whole bottle of sleeping pills. She doesn't really know why she tries, to be honest.

Mona just wants the feelings to stop.

* * *

Her high school is forty minutes away, and it's much more diverse than the tiny middle school down the road.

Azet's so gorgeous. She's eighteen to Mona's seventeen.

Azet's parents are human, but she herself is Klingon; she is proud of her heritage, however, and openly shows it. She is every bit Klingon as Mona is human. Mona asks her if she wants to sit in on a band session with her and her friends, which leads to Azet joining in and adding her Klingon guitar to the mix with her personal brand of gusto and energy. It creates a fascinating, eclectic tone and the band is a hit among their highschool.

"I think you're pretty amazing," Mona admits to Azet. "I've never met someone like you. You're so strong. And brave. You never do anything in halves."

Azet barks out a proud laugh, and replies, "You honor me with these compliments, Mona. I find you to be fascinating as well."

Fascinating isn't quite the word, but it's close enough.

Mona's favorite color is white. It's the color of the cotton sheets Azet's curtain of hair fans out on. Mona's nervous; Azet's so confident, so bold, she's Klingon through and through and Mona's parents think she's on a band trip, but when they kiss it sort of... _fades_ into anticipation. They're not a good match, won't ever be- Azet's too proud, Mona's got too many hangups- but for now this is closeness neither of them has ever seen or felt and they want to experience together, with someone they trust. 

It's clumsy, and probably too fast, and there's almost certainly species-specific barriers they're hitting. But it's what they needed, as assurance they each could be enjoyed. 

Azet, when she graduates, decides to move to Qo'noS, the Klingon homeworld. The hole she leaves in the band causes them to break up. Mona's eighteen, and for her birthday, she gets a tattoo of a clef on her right inner wrist.

* * *

At twenty-one, she's well into her philosophy major. Mona's doing double duty, though, and does a double major with philosophy and music theory. She's opened herself up to her feelings and doesn't let them bring her down so her hair gets buzzed again, and she works out like a fiend, because that's who she imagines herself to be and she wants to reflect that outwardly. Mona's voice is gravelly, and she's tall, and she's a woman who knows who she is. She gets ragged on by her friends that she's gonna be street smart, not book smart, but Mona reads and reads and reads about political and mathematical theory and history and teaches herself how to play piano and the drums and saxophone. She changes her name to Mona Miles (but not before calling her parents to ask if that's okay).

Mona meets amazing people in her class, and immediately clicks with them all. They're encouraging to the extreme, and it makes her feel wanted. 

She records her first full album by scraping together cash for the studio and enlisting the help of her new friends, a chill human woman named Diane, an excitable Andorian named Th'rek, a Klingon guy named Rex, and Diane's timid eighteen year old son Joey; it's called _Stone and Sand,_ and it's a big hit in the underground music scene. The group like her singing and songwriting and how she plays her instruments so much they all ask if she's into them putting together a band. Which, duh. Yeah.

Back and forth arguing on what the band should be called almost stopped it before it started. Rex wanted something honorable and bloody, but that's not the exact vibe they were going for. Diane and Th'rek wanted something punk rock and cool, and Joey really, really didn't want to argue. In the end, it took Mona's idea of "Knives Out" to get everyone agreeing. 

They record their second album senior year, just before finals, and name it ' _Bite the Hands That Feed'._ It's a bigger hit than the last one and people start to want more from them. They graduate, get an agent (Leon, a weaselly guy but good at his job), and the band switches up the style to mixed but mostly positive reviews with ' _Can You Tell It's Us?_ '. Tattoos start crawling their way from her wrists upward, the biggest piece being five interlocking circles inked to look like Terra, Andoria, and Qo'noS, but two are left blank near the top because _you're_ in the band, too, no matter where you come from. The extra one is because the tattoo artist fucked up and added one too many, which she tells no one, but it stuck and she's fine with how it looks.

Mona goes her own direction for a bit and records a solo album she simply names ' _Mona Miles One'._ It's a smash hit, but she misses the band. 

She's twenty-four and Knives Out plays small venues, because superfame has never been any of their goals and everyone has careers to focus mainly on. They don't advertise who they are until the show starts, and the bars really, really don't care about that because _holy shit Mona Miles and Knives Out are going to play in my bar._ Interviews are shut down immediately, because the underground is where they want to stay and if the public sees their faces it's goodbye normal life.

Mona doesn't have a favorite color right now, but she's looking for one.

* * *

"Rex, please, _please_ don't insult the audience this time."

"I did nothing! I simply told them they are cowards for-"

Joey interrupted him. _"That is an insult Rex."_

He'd never admit he was pouting, but Rex pouts and grumbles and fiddles with his drum set. They're all at the little hole-in-the- wall bar Hook and Tackle tonight, playing their first gig in a while, and Mona's heart is pumping with excitement. 

"Hey, we still on for Saturday at yours, Rex?" Diane asks. "I'm gonna bring my new bass. I named her Jolene."

Th'rek blinks, and his antennae shift around in what Mona assumes portrays confusion. "You don't play the bass. You play piano."

Diane gives him a flat look. She brushes some curly hair out of her eyes- she keeps complaining that she has no time to get her box braids done- and dryly tells him, "I'm _teaching_ myself how to play the bass, dear. I'm trying to diversify and all that. Might as well try to catch up with Ms. Musical Genius over here."

"I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole," Mona warns her, "you do what'cha want, it's not a competition." 

"Fine, fine."

Leon gives them the queue to start getting ready, then slinks backstage. Mona's heart ramps up speed.

She's still looking for a favorite color, but for now?

It's showtime.


End file.
